Scars
by Cheryl W
Summary: When an old injury resurfaces, Brick's torn between trusting his father to be there for him or facing it on his own.
1. Chapter 1

Scars

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Brick McKenna or any rights to the television show "McKenna", nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: When an old injury resurfaces, Brick's torn between trusting his father to be there for him or facing it on his own.

Author's Note: I was so excited to see a McKenna category here at ffnet! Back when McKenna aired, which was September 1994 (Wow! Where has my life gone? ) I wrote this story for my own enjoyment. That, of course, was way before I ever heard of ffnet or knew that others wrote stories about their favorite tv shows. (I thought I was just crazy and needed therapy.) Anyway, I'm not sure if anyone has an interest in this story or not, but I had to honor this show and this new category by posting it anyway. So without more babbling, here's the first part.

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Chapter 1

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Brick McKenna knew that if he didn't get off the horse right then, he might fall off. Slowly and gently, he dismounted but the dull ache in his head only intensified. Leaning against his horse's flank, he took a couple deep breaths and clamped his eyes closed, tried to will the pain away.

For three months he had been fine but now the pain had returned. Apparently not his anger, his frustration or even his willpower were able to make it go away forever.

Gradually the pain eased and Brick opened his eyes to view the beauty of God's hands. The McKenna house was five miles back. Not so far away from the mountains and the river he was viewing, yet it was far enough away from Jack.

He and Brick had argued all morning about the usual: everything. It was at those times that Brick wondered why he was still hanging around. After all, he had a racing career he could go back to.

Brick smiled to himself because that was a joke, all on him. The headaches he had, they were a bitter keepsake of that lifestyle.

And yet he still missed it.

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"Nice of you to return," Jack chided Brick as his son entered the stable.

It was past midnight. Everything was dark except the barn and Brick hadn't been aware of Jack's presence until he spoke.

Brick said nothing as he took off the saddle and began brushing down the horse. Hearing movement, he knew Jack stood directly behind him but he didn't turn to face him. There was no use, he couldn't win an argument against his father.

"Things don't turn out like you want them to and you just bail out. That's what you're best at, right, Brick?" Jack demanded.

Brick finished with his horse, put the brush away before finally facing Jack. "What do you want me to do? Hang around till we work out our differences? 'Cause that'll never happen, Jack." Then he brushed by his father and strode toward the house. But Jack was only a few paces behind him when he entered the house. His father slammed the door closed behind them.

"You never think, Brick! You just do! Anything you like and who cares who it hurts as long as you're in control," Jack lobbed to his son's back.

Angrily, Brick spun around, incredulously sputtered, "Control? You think that's what I'm after? If I wanted control I certainly wouldn't have come back to this house!"

Intimidatingly stepping up to be toe to toe with his son, Jack challenged, "Well, why did you?"

And that question had plagued Brick after every blow up he and Jack had. "I truly don't know but I've got a career to get back to."

Jack didn't even try to hide his contempt for his son's vocation. "Racing isn't a career. It's a rush. One that may or may not pay you enough to survive."

The slur cut viciously through Brick, had him heatedly volleying back, "You're one to talk. You make people pay for a rush! You're no better…" But he broke off and began to massage his temple. The pain had returned sharply and quickly.

Recognizing the look of pain on his son's face, Jack immediately grabbed onto Brick's shoulders. "Brick, what's wrong?" his tone laced with concern.

"Nothing. I'm fine," Brick mumbled even as Jack guided him to a chair.

Pressing Brick into the chair, Jack kept a hand on his son's shoulder and crouched down by his son's knees.

Bowing his head, Brick held his head in his hands, could hardly think for the pain. It had never been so bad before.

Tersely watching his son in pain, Jack felt a helpless panic rise in him. "Brick, what it is?" he urgently demanded in a gentle tone.

"It's just a headache," Brick managed but he couldn't bring his head up to reassure his father.

Though his expression scoffed at Brick's explanation, Jack didn't contest it, simply stood up and headed to the kitchen. He returned with a glass of water and a bottle of headache pills. Shaking out two pills, he held them out to Brick. "Take these," he commanded.

When Brick pulled his head from his hands, the world spun for a minute. Slowly, everything came into focus and he looked at Jack, was taken aback by the look of unconcealed concern on his father's features. Not commenting on his observations, he took the pills and proffered glass of water from his father's hands. Swallowing the two pills, he reached for the pill container and began shaking out two more pills.

At first, Jack wasn't sure of his son's intentions, but when they became clear he exclaimed, "Whoa," and he grabbed Brick's hand that held the pills. "Two is enough."

"Not lately," Brick replied before realizing what his admission replied. And Jack, of course, didn't miss his meaning.

"What are you saying? That you've been having a lot of bad headaches?" Jack's voice turning gruffer with concern and reprimand.

"No. I'm not saying that," Brick hastily denied, keeping his eyes averted from Jack's. "I just have a killer one right now and two pills aren't going to do much."

Jack gave Brick a stern glare but it was wasted on his son, who purposefully wasn't looking at him. Taking the pills from Brick's hand, he put them back in the container and closed the lid shut with a resounding snap. "Take two now and two more in four hours and if you still feel bad, you're going to a doctor."

Finally getting the pain under control, Brick raised his head, defiantly asked his father, "Are you doctor Jack now?"

Fighting a strong urge to rail at Brick, Jack gruffly responded with a "Go to bed, Brick."

Brick wanted nothing better than to comply. His bed was truly calling him. However, there was a slight problem: he wasn't sure he could stand up without passing out, let alone maneuver the stairs. "I think I'll sit here for a while," he casually told Jack.

But Jack wasn't fooled. He still noted the pain in Brick's eyes and he had also seen the flare of panic when he ordered Brick to go to bed. Telling himself not to react in fear, to not let Brick skitter away from opening up to him, he calmly took a seat on the couch across from the chair where Brick sat. When he leaned forward to draw closer to his son, his growing concern was already tightening up his muscles. "Brick, this isn't just a headache," he softly accused.

Staring into his father's eyes, Brick allowed, "Alright. It's a migraine."

Meeting Brick's pain dulled eyes, Jack surmised, "This isn't the first one you've had lately, is it?"

Brick remained silent though his eyes steadily remained locked with his father's.

Recognizing Brick wasn't going to answer, Jack had to make his own conclusions. "And the one you have now is so bad you can't even crawl to your room." Though he had made sure no condemnation carried in his tone, Brick didn't reply.

"Fine," Jack announced as if Brick's silence had confirmed his statement. Standing, he approached Brick, "Let's get you to bed and we'll discuss this tomorrow." Without waiting for Brick's approval, Jack carefully picked up his son's arm, looped it over his shoulder and pulled Brick slowly to his feet, his arm sliding supportively around his son's waist.

As slowly and as gently as Jack had drawn him to his feet, Brick still almost passed out. It was Jack's strength, not Brick's that kept the younger McKenna from collapsing onto the floor. Brick quickly tried to support his own weight but the pain in his head was stealing his strength. Now there was no way of proving to Jack that he was fine.

Though Jack had guessed at his son's condition, he was still shocked to be totally supporting him. "Brick?" he exclaimed but even as he spoke, Brick was recovering slightly, was taking some of his own weight.

"I'm fine," Brick declared even though he knew there was no hope his father would believe him. Though part of him knew that it wasn't just his father he was trying to convince, that he was trying to convince himself, had been for days.

"No, you're not fine, Brick," Jack stated, his jagged fear turning his tone rougher than normal.

"All I need is to get some sleep," Brick stated, wanted that to be true. Needed it to be true.

"Yeah, right," but Jack's tone was one of sarcasm, not anger. "Think you can make it to your room?" Again his concern and worry were evident in the timbre of his words.

"Yes," was all Brick said, tried to instill as much confidence in that one word, in the look he leveled at his father as he could.

Without challenging that declaration, Jack began helping his son to the stairs, but he halted at the base. "I could carry you…" he offered tentatively, not because he wouldn't do that for his son, but knew that Brick, though he was his son, was his responsibility, he was also a grown man, had his own pride to contend with.

Brick immediately became defensive. "Forget it. I don't need your help anymore." And he attempted to step out of Jack's grasp. Instantly Jack tightened his grip on Brick's waist and grabbed his son's shoulder, halting his son's retreat.

"You can't make it up these stairs by yourself in the condition you're in," Jack bluntly said, swinging Brick's arm back over his shoulders even as Brick shot him a look that could melt metal. "You didn't want me to carry you, so I'm not. But me helping you isn't up for debate."

Again, recalling that he couldn't win against Jack, Brick, with a nod of his head, conceded the battle, allowed his father to help him climb up the stairs and into his room. He had had to close his eyes a few times during the journey to ensure he didn't topple backwards or stumble to his knees. When Jack manhandled him to the edge of his bed, he nearly laid down immediately, wanted to.

Crouching down to be eye level with Brick, Jack worried prodded, "How are you doing?"

"I just want to go to sleep," Brick earnestly replied, all denials or pretenses gone.

"Ok, son," Jack gently agreed as he eased Brick back onto the bed. Pulling his son's legs onto the bed, he removed Brick's shoes like he hadn't done since his boy was a child. As he covered Brick with a blanket, he noted that Brick was once again messaging his temples.

Looking down into his son's eyes, Jack felt pain shaft through him, wondered if Brick would believe him if he told him that when his children felt pain, he did too. That, however lacking in fatherly attributes Brick thought he was, he still loved his kids, more than life itself. "You need me, just give a yell, Brick," he offered but in the tone of an order because it was the only way Brick might actually seek his help. Then he started for the door but Brick grabbed his arm and halted him.

"Thanks, Dad," Brick said, his eyes holding Jack's, wondering how his gratitude would be received.

Jack smiled down at his son, fought the desire to run his fingers lightly through his son's hair. "Goodnight, son," he quietly bade. When Brick released his arm, he left the room but purposefully kept the door open a crack, just in case Brick called out for him, needed him.

Left alone with his fears, Brick's heart started to pound.

He was getting worse, not better.

The doctor had been right.

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TBC

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Well, there's part one. I hope someone out there decides to read it and maybe wants the rest that will follow.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	2. Chapter 2

Scars

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Brick McKenna or any rights to the television show "McKenna", nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: Since some of you are awesomely gracious enough to read this story without seeing this tv show, I'll give you a quick summary. (For those of you familiar with the show, go for that snack, we'll meet you back here after the break. Ha ha.)

Cast

Brick McKenna – Played by Eric Close (Magnificent Seven/Without a Trace)

Jack McKenna – Played by Chad Everett (Supernatural (Curious Case of Dean Winchester. He played aged Dean!)/ Medical Center)

Cassidy McKenna – Played by Jennifer Love Hewitt (Ghost Whisperer)

Series Summary

After years with no contact with his family, Brick McKenna comes home to help with his family's business after the death of his older brother, Guy. Their business, McKenna Outfitters, offers outdoor adventure tours and is run by his Brick's father, Jack. On hand to help with the business is Brick's widowed Sister In Law, Leigh, who has two children, and Brick's younger sister, Cassidy. But tensions run high between Brick and his father because Brick's never been his father's favorite, his big brother Guy was. And Brick can't shake the feeling that his father believes the wrong son died on that fateful tour. So father and son both struggle to find new ground where their relationship can flourish this time around.

Whew! That was harder to explain than it should have been. Ok, now that I've confused everyone…on with the story already in progress.

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Chapter 2

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It was 2:30 am and Jack still had not found sleep, instead he stood in Brick's doorway. By the moonlight, he could see his son's face, now peaceful in sleep. It was as if the events from a few hours ago had not occurred, could safely be written off as freak migraine and that Jack was worrying for nothing. Except it had happened and Brick's pain, it had been severe, had been nearly debilitating.

And that wasn't something Jack could forget, had him vowing to keep a close eye on Brick for the next few days. Because no matter how old his children got, they were still his to protect. Just like Guy had been.

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When morning came, Jack opened his burning eyes and knew that he was getting too old to go without sleep, that he was going to pay dearly for spending half the night up worrying about Brick and the other half trapped in a restless sleep. Climbing out of bed, he intended to get a cold shower but couldn't ignore his compulsion to see Brick first.

But when he leaned into Brick's room, he was greeted by an empty bed. Hurriedly throwing on some clothing, he headed downstairs in search of his son. He entered the kitchen to find that Leigh, his daughter-in-law, was the only one there. "Where's Brick?" he gruffly demanded.

Leigh turned to greet Jack. "Good morning, Jack. Brick was gone when I got up."

"You know where?"

Leigh hesitated as she sensed Jack's anger. And though that was her father-in-law's commonplace reaction to Brick, there was something else in the older man's demeanor that she couldn't identify. "No, he didn't mention anything yesterday. What's wrong?"

Feeling his chest tighten, Jack replied, "Maybe nothing. Maybe everything," but left the house before Leigh could cross-examine him. When he found that the barn lacked his son's presence…and his son's horse, he muttered, "Darn it, Brick!" He had forgotten just how pigheaded his youngest son was. Rationally knowing that there was no use in looking for Brick, that the boy could be anywhere, Jack headed back to the house to take that shower that he promised himself.

He tried to console himself with the fact that Brick's early rising was surely a sign that his son felt fine. Trouble was, he couldn't shake the panic from the prior night, the memories of completely supporting Brick in his arms. It tore away all of his false confidence that Brick wouldn't be taken away from him, not like Guy had. No, Brick, he emanated too much life, had too much strength, too strong-willed.

But last night, when he had looked into his son's eyes…his tough son's emotional walls had been down and Jack saw Brick's vulnerability, his fear, his pain.

Brick wasn't invincible, was human just like everyone else. Like Guy had been. And that was what terrified Jack most of all. He wouldn't survive losing another child, he just wouldn't.

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Brick lay in the field, motionless. His horse snorted, the river bubbled only a few paces away and a hawk gave a call as it flew overhead, but he didn't stir.

But when a bug landed on his cheek, he instinctively swatted it away without opening his eyes. But it was too late, he was awake. Opening his eyes, he saw the blue skies void of a single cloud. It was a beauty of a day.

It hadn't started that way.

When he had crawled out of bed at the crack of dawn, it felt like he was trying to come out of a coma. His head didn't ache but he had no energy. Still, he dragged himself out of the house and onto his horse, all in an attempt to prove to Jack that he was indeed fine. He only wished he could convince himself.

Sitting up, he took a deep breath of clean mountain air but even the mountain's therapeutic tranquility couldn't rid him of his worry. He knew he should go to a doctor. Thing was, he was never keen on doctors and he had never been one to follow their orders. Maybe he was finally paying the price for that trait.

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Though Brick timed his arrive back at the house so that he would only have an hour before he had to lead a tour, he hoped to avoid Jack a little bit longer. Yet, at the same time, he wanted to show his father that he was fine, that nothing more needed to be said on the subject of his weakness the prior night.

'_Jack probably didn't even give your headache last night any more thought. I'm worried about nothing.' _He had practically convinced himself, until Jack entered the barn and immediately came toe to toe with him. His father's face was set in that unyielding mold that he was so familiar with.

It seemed that the barn was going to, once again, be their battlefield.

'_Next time, my horse can find his stall all on his own_,' Brick mentally grumbled.

"I guess I'm to assume you're feeling better today since you left the house at the crack of dawn and haven't been seen till now," Jack bit out like it was an accusation.

Uncertain what was provoking his father's wrath this time, Brick decided to ignore it, to be offhanded about it all. Smiling, he declared, "100% better. So, you got my gear for the tour?" But Jack was giving him an accessing look.

Although Brick had gotten up early, had been out most of the day and claimed to be one hundred percent better, Jack wasn't convinced. Brick looked tired and his eyes seemed dull, the usual sparkle missing. "Nope. 'Cause I'm taking the tour," he announced.

"Oh come on, Jack!" Brick exclaimed. "We've had this fight so often I've got my lines down pat. I won't scare the clients or push them too hard and I'll call the chicken "pollo…" whatever."

"It has nothing to do with any of that. It has to do with you," Jack stated, his unflinching gaze latched onto his son's. He continued before Brick could voice the objection that was so clearly telegraphed on his features. "You need to take it easy. Get some rest."

Brick was speechless for a second, his father's genuine concern catching him off guard. Then he remembered who he was dealing with. Jack didn't do concern, not unless it had something to do with ruining the reputation of McKenna Outfitters. "I said I was OK," he defensively vowed, would prove to Jack that he was fit to take out one of his precious tour groups.

"Yeah and I say you're not," Jack gruffly shot back, leaving no room for discussion. "I'll take the tour out and you get in that house and get some sleep," he ordered, barely noticing that he had retorted to the tone he used on his children when they were young.

But Brick didn't miss the tone his father was employing on him. Giving a bitter laugh, he scoffed, "What? Are you ordering me to my room, Jack?"

Recognizing the gauntlet between them, Jack knew Brick would purposefully defy him unless he handled things differently. Taking a deep breath, he looked to his son, could sense Brick's growing anger. "Brick, let's not argue. I just think, after last night, you shouldn't push yourself." When Brick opened his mouth, Jack raised his hand to cut off his son's comeback. "Regardless of how you feel now."

For a few moments, father and son stared at one another in silence, each trying to gauge the other's reaction.

Beginning to accept his father's reasons, that Jack just might be truly looking out for him, Brick was struck with just how long it had been since his father had _cared_ what was best for him. And he couldn't let it slip through his fingers, what his father was offering him. "Yeah, sure. I'll kick back today," he softly complied.

Jack's tensed muscles relaxed and he nodded his head in agreement. When Brick walked past him and headed for the house, Jack watched him go. And though the worried tightness in his chest eased, it didn't completely disappear.

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Having taken Jack's advice and slept awhile, Brick woke up renewed and hopeful that the last few days had been just a case of bad headaches after all. Before he made it half way down the stairs, he knew that a quiet house signified an empty house, that Cassidy and the kids had already left for the Hawkville fair and Jack was still leading his tour.

Gaining the ground floor, he headed to the kitchen. Pouring the soda into a glass, he stood by the counter, took a sip while he watched the sunset through the window. But a moment later, the glass slipped from his grasp to shatter on the floor and he grabbed the countertop in a white knuckled grip as a wave of pain assaulted him. Moaning in agony, he bowed over the counter, one hand flying up to clutch his head.

He told himself that it would get better, to ride it out but the pain instead doubled in intensity. One moment he was giving himself the pep speech and the next he was swept away into unconsciousness.

Then the house resumed its quiet as the sun's last rays hit the shards of glass that surrounded Brick's motionless form on the kitchen floor.

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Though he couldn't ignore the urgency he felt to get back to the house, Jack chided himself for letting his worry control him. Brick wasn't a child. '_But he's my son_.' And that, in Jack's book, gave him permission to be as protective as he saw fit. So, half an hour earlier than planned, he unceremoniously dumped the members of his tour at their cabins and drove to the house, pulled right up front.

And he couldn't slow down his hurried steps as he climbed the stairs and flung open the house's front door. But he did manage to make his call for his son come out calm, though the dark house was anything but reassuring, "Brick? Hey Brick? What's up? You here?"

Silence greeted him.

He headed upstairs to see if Brick was still asleep but his son's bed, though unmade, was empty. The obvious clues that Brick had taken his advice about getting some sleep should have been comforting, could be construed as proof that his son at least respected him enough to do as he had asked. But it wasn't heartening at all. Instead, it was a chilling confirmation of just how poorly Brick was feeling.

And now Brick was gone.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Jack returned to the first floor and stalked for the kitchen, intending to make some calls to Brick's friends, praying that one of them knew his son's location. But his heart slammed against his chest when he saw Brick lying on the kitchen floor. "Brick!" he gasped, falling to his knees beside his son, unaware of the glass embedding in his legs.

"Brick?" he exclaimed, gently taking Brick's face in his hands. But Brick gave no response either to his call or to his touch. With a shaking hand, Jack reached out, settled his hand on his son's chest and nearly broke down when he felt the heartbeat thudding against his palm. "Brick, can you hear me?" He urgently bade, his eyes scanning his son's colorless face, hoping to see his son's eyes flutter, for his usually high spirited son to just move, give him some sign that he was going to be ok. But Brick he didn't do any of that. He lay there as still as…Guy had in his casket.

That terrifyingly grim comparison had Jack springing to his feet and snatching the phone from its cradle. He couldn't believe he was dialing 911 for another one of his sons. When the operator answered, he gave his address and Brick's condition in quick, concise sentences. She reassured him that the ambulance would be there in fifteen minutes before Jack hung up the phone and dropped again to his son's side.

Taking off his coat, Jack laid it across Brick. But that only enhanced the vulnerability his son was emanating, made Brick seem so young and so very ill, like his every breath could be his last. Not caring about all the first aid rules that forbade him to move an unconscious person, he tenderly shifted Brick from the floor and cradled him in his arms. "Come on, Brick. You're going to be just fine," he gently insisted as he used his free hand to push Brick's hair from his brow. His voice broke as he pleaded, "Please wake up, Brick. Please."

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TBC

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Have to say that, before I uploaded this story's first chapter, I told myself that I should keep posting this story, even if no one reviewed. But to my amazing shock, you generous souls went and reviewed, gave me such wonderful encouragement. So, thanks so much to my awesome reviewers on the first chapter! And thanks to all the people who decided to give the story a read.

Have a wonderful day!

And for those in the US – Happy Memorial Day! God bless and keep our soldiers safe where ever they are.

Cheryl W.


	3. Chapter 3

Scars

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Brick McKenna or any rights to the television show "McKenna", nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: Just so you know, the medical stuff in this story is all hooey. So if you're looking for a realistic medical explanations…this isn't the story for that. But if you're looking for some hurt Brick, well, that I think I got down pat. So now onto the story...

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Chapter 3

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Jack paced in the waiting room, mentally berated himself for not getting Brick to a doctor last night. Maybe it would have made a difference and maybe it wouldn't have. He would never know. Finally he sank into a chair.

It had been forty minutes since Brick was rolled though the ER doors and still Jack knew nothing.

But a few minutes later when he saw a nurse directing a young male doctor his way, he suddenly felt like he needed more time, didn't know if he was ready to hear what the doctor had to tell him. Though he tried to read the doctor's face for hints, he couldn't discern the kind of news the man was about to deliver.

Jack came to his feet as the doctor introduced, "Mr. McKenna, I'm Doctor Ray."

"How's my son?" Jack demanded, his heart pounding in fear, ringing through his ears.

"He's still unconscious but stable," the doctor imparted.

Forcing himself to focus on the good news, Jack tried to calm down, to reassure himself that Brick being stable meant his son's life wasn't in jeopardy.

Gesturing to the chairs, the doctor instructed, "Please have a seat, Mr. McKenna."

Suddenly, Jack didn't want to sit down. Knew that if he sat down he would have to hear what the doctor had to say, would have to face the reality that his son was sick, seriously so. But he had to be brave, if not for his sake than for Brick's.

Sinking back into his chair, Jack warily watched the doctor claim the chair at his side. Almost forgot to breathe as the other man spoke.

"I believe his current condition is related to the racing accident he had three months ago." The doctor didn't try to understand Jack's stunned look, simply focused on telling the facts he knew. "Apparently it never completely healed and is now getting worse."

Mind scrambling to make sense of what the doctor was saying, Jack could hardly form words. "Racing accident?" he asked, stupefied because, Brick didn't do the racing. Brick was simply the mechanic for the race team. The doctor must have misread the medical files.

The doctor's youthful face blanched with shame. "I'm sorry. I assumed you knew."

Jack's vain denials fled at the doctor's apology, made it all so real. "No …I…I didn't." And he dropped his eyes to the floor, was flooded with shame. What kind of father did that make him ? His son had been in an accident and he hadn't even known about it!

"The record of his accident was in his medical files," Dr. Ray quietly stated but then he paused, uncertain of how he should proceed when he was teetering on the edge of breaking the doctor-patient confidentiality privileges. When the older man's anguished eyes rose to pierce into his, beseeched him to tell him everything he knew about his son's accident, Ray faltered. He never could stand when families were at odds with one another. "Mr. McKenna, three months ago your son was in a serious racing accident in Kent, Wyoming. He sustained two broken ribs, contusions on his right thigh and on his back, had internally bleeding and …a severe concussion."

It never got easier, watching the horror reflecting in the faces as he recounted the physical damage inflicted on the ones people loved, but Ray forced himself to concentrate on the next step, on the healing he hoped he could do. "It's that head trauma that is affecting your son now. But I can't make a definitive prognosis without consulting with the doctor who treated Brick for these injuries."

The doctor had listed Brick's injuries like they were on a groceries list, like it didn't tear Jack apart each and every one. His son had been in all that …pain…and he never knew. And now the doctor was stalling. "Doctor, tell me something! I mean, is he going to be OK?" Because nowhere in the doctor's patent speech had he heard any reassurances.

"I need to run some tests but, Mr. McKenna, I do have to caution you that the brain is a very sensitive part of the body and it can be unpredictable. When it is dealt more pain than it can handle, it shuts down. That's what happened tonight, what caused your son to blackout."

Jack ran a trembling hand over his mouth. The more the doctor talked, the more ill he felt. "But he's stable?" because that seemed like, not only the first good news he had heard, but maybe the only good news.

The doctor nodded his head. "Yes. He's stable and we're closely monitoring him. I don't feel he's in any danger tonight and we'll run tests tomorrow."

As the doctor stood, Jack shook his hands. "Thank you, doctor. Is it possible for me to see my son?"

"He's still not conscious but we have put him in room 372. You can visit with him there."

Jack nodded even as the doctor headed back the ER rooms where other patients needed his expertise.

And as much as Jack wanted to go directly to see Brick, he knew he had one thing he needed to first. Set on that mission, he sought out the pay phones and called Leigh. He wasn't the most tactful of men, he knew that but he tried to calmly, gently explain what had happened and Brick's condition. Assuring them that Brick was in no immediate danger, he urged Leigh and Cassidy to wait until morning to come in and see Brick. Though his daughter and daughter-in-law heatedly protested, they conceded in the end, with his strict promise to call them if Brick worsened.

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Entering room 372 and quietly passed a sleeping man who had a cast on his leg, Jack felt his heart painfully skip a beat as he stood at the foot of Brick's bed. Though his son wasn't conscious and had an IV line, there was no breathing equipment or heart monitor, causing Jack's tension to ease a little.

Slowly coming around to Brick's left side, he looked down into his son's far too pale face. Oh how he loved him! He gently brushed Brick's hair from his forehead and softly murmured, "Hey, Brick, you trying to give your old man a heart-attack or what?" But Jack's eyes held little mirth at the sight of his son in a hospital bed.

"You're going to be back up to full speed in no time because the one thing I know about you, Brick, is that you're no quitter. I go and say you're not capable of doing something, you won't rest till you prove me wrong." Wished that his son would wake up, defy him right then but when Brick continued to lay as still as he had on the kitchen floor, disheartened, Jack sank back into the chair by the bed, vowed that he wouldn't leave his son's side. Wouldn't let Brick be alone in this.

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It was a struggle to escape the memories but Brick did it, opened his eyes by force of will. Then he patiently allowed his eyes time to adjust to the light only to discover that there was nothing familiar about what he was seeing. Starting to sit up, moving his arm, intending to lean on it, he hissed in pain. That was when he noticed the IV, put two and two together instantly and knew exactly where he was.

"Whoa," Jack's concerned voice reached Brick's ear a second before gentle but firm hands were pressing him back into the bed.

Turning his head, Brick came face to face with Jack. But it was a Jack he had never seen before. A concerned, caring, fatherly Jack. And Brick couldn't help wonder if that was who Jack had been for Guy.

Unaware of his son's thoughts, Jack quietly spoke, leaning close, "You're in the hospital, Brick. Do you remember what happened?" his eyes full of care.

"Yeah," Brick said, his voice dry and tried. Clearing his throat, he went on, "I passed out."

Jack nodded his head. "And I found you on the kitchen floor." And that sight wasn't something he would ever forget, would remember that terror…just like he remembered the same feeling when Guy had fallen. Pushing away those dark memoires, he focused on the son he was thanking God he hadn't lost a few hours ago. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better," Brick stated firmly and some of Jack's concern was replaced with anger.

Gruffly Jack retorted, "Better than what, Brick? Don't you dare try to tell me this is nothing to worry about."

Brick opened his mouth to make a reply but Jack cut him off.

"I'll tell the doctor you're awake," and then Jack left.

Staring up at the ceiling, Brick let out a deep breath. It seemed the decision to seek medical advice had been decided for him. But in his gut, he already knew he didn't want to hear what they had to tell him.

When the doctor made his appearance, Jack came into the room with him, leaned against the wall, made it perfectly clear that he wasn't leaving. But to his surprise, his father's presence wasn't unwelcome to him as the young doctor asked his routine questions, checked his eyes with his pen light then stood at the end of his bed, looking over his chart. And Brick tried to stay awake, to not let his father ask all the questions of the doctor, to take charge. But his body had other plans and his eyes slid shut and he didn't have the strength to pry them open again.

Alarmed, Jack pushed himself off the wall, crossed to his son's side but the doctor noted his fear, tried to assuage it.

"It's normal for someone suffering from head trauma to go in and out of consciousness pretty quickly."

Eyes on his son, Jack asked of the doctor, "But him waking up, being coherent, that's a good sign, right?"

"It's encouraging, yes. But as I stated, we need to run tests," the doctor hedged, didn't want to sugar coat everything when there were so many variables to contend with.

But Jack had latched onto the doctor's first statement, barely heard the rest, didn't even bid the doctor goodbye when he left. Assuming his chair again, he spared a glance at his watch, shocked to realize that it was four thirty in the morning. But he wasn't tired, couldn't even imagine shutting his eyes, let alone sleeping.

'Brick is Ok. He was talking to me,' he insisted, yet the worry still clung to him and, in that moment, it was almost inconceivable that he would ever have another peaceful night's sleep.

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When Brick woke again, the day felt more like a sleepy Sunday morning. The blinds were open and sunlight filtered into the hospital room. Shifting in the bed, he discovered that Leigh sat in the chair Jack had occupied hours earlier.

Noticing that Brick was awake and looking right at her, Leigh smiled and leaned over to grasp his hand. "How are you doing?" her eyes expressing her concern.

"I feel fine now. I kinda feel foolish for being in here and not being in pain or deathly sick," Brick sheepishly told his sister-in-law.

"Well, they want to make sure you're OK, Brick. It really shook Jack up finding you passed out on the kitchen floor." Motherly, she ran her fingers through Brick's unruly hair, "It's not something to be ignored."

And hadn't Brick been trying to do just that? Ignore his pain? "I guess this means you've been assigned as second shift guard duty," he lightly joked.

"You've got to be kidding," Leigh replied with a rueful look. "I had to shove Jack out the door just so he'd get some fresh air. He stayed awake all night watching you, you know. And he is still refusing to get some rest." Giving Brick a steady look, she admitted, "He's really worried about you, Brick. We all are," because sometimes, with men, especially McKenna men, she had learned that the obvious needed to be stated.

"Leigh, I'm telling you that I'm back to normal so stop worrying," Brick reassured with a smile but he could tell by the worried crinkle in Leigh's face that she wasn't convinced.

Before Leigh could call Brick on his fib, Cassidy stepped into the room and upon seeing her now awake big brother, she ran to his side, leaned over him and hugged him tightly.

Returning Cassidy's hug, Brick reveled in the show of love his little sister could always be counted on to bestow on him, whether he deserved it or not. Then he sensed another presence in the room, looked up to find his father there, his expression grim.

Jack had heard what Brick had said to Leigh, exactly the load of horse manure he had forbidden Brick to tell him. After all, he had let Brick's lies ease his worries before and look where that got them.

Pulling back, Cassidy studied her brother's eyes, seemed to be memories every facet of his face.

Brick fondly put a strand of her hair behind her ear, teased, "Frowning like that is bad for the complexion, Cass."

"Oh Brick," she choked out, his soft words practically bringing her to tears…again.

"Whoa. I'm not dying here, Cass," he gently scoffed, gently stroking her hair. Cass laughed through the unshed tears glistening in her eyes.

At that moment, the doctor walked into the room. "Sorry to interrupt but we need to take him down for some tests." He encompassed all three of his patient's visitors with his apologetic smile.

Patting Brick's leg, Jack announced, "We'll be in the waiting room," but there was something in his expression as he looked to his son, as if there was something he wanted to say. But then he was gone, Leigh following in his wake and, with a kiss to his cheek, Cass departed too.

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An hour and a half later, Brick sat propped up in the bed and felt distinctly uncomfortable when the doctor, instead of remaining standing, claimed the chair in the room. Suddenly it felt more like an interrogation was about to occur.

"Between the test we ran and your medical history, I can make a pretty good calculation of your condition," Doctor Ray stated, hoped to read something in his patient's eyes but the man a few years his junior was an apt poker player, let nothing show on his face. "However, I like to know all the facts." And his patient didn't walk through the door of invitation either, remained silent, like he was clueless to what was causing his pain and the blackout. "I called Dr. Peters who treated your injuries after your racing accident," he bluntly announced and that got a reaction, had his patient dropping his eye from him to stare at his hands. He almost sighed as he continued, "He confirmed my theory. You sustained a very serious head injury and he prescribed medication and bed rest for a month." Here, he paused, gave the other man a stern look when he raised his head, faced him and his condemnation.

"But you didn't take all the medication and certainly didn't rest, did you Brick?" Dr Ray challenged, his tone stern, reminding him of his own father's tone when he got into trouble.

Brick didn't cower under the glare the doctor was giving him, instead he cockily smiled, "No, doc, I didn't."

The doctor shook his head in frustration, demanded, "Can I ask why not?"

"Because that's not who I am. Because life's too short," Brick calmly yet firmly replied back.

The two men held eye contact, neither uttering a word then Dr. Ray leaned closer to Brick, met his eyes and nearly growled, "Listen to me and listen closely, Brick McKenna. This is nothing to be ignored. You've got a blood clot in your frontal lobe where you hit your head in the racing accident. I'm not going to mince words. It can cause uncontrollable mood swings, memory loss, paralysis and it can kill you."

Brick didn't flinch from the news. Hadn't he heard this before, expected it to be bought up again, to be this serious.

Certain that his meaning had sunk in, Dr. Ray exhaled, more evenly continued, "Operating is the last option, only taken if it is the only way to save your life. But as serious as this condition is, the cure can end up being simple." His eyes bore into Brick's. "Medication and confinement in bed for a month or so. And let me make one thing clear: you're thirty percent worse than you were right after the accident. That means that there's only a twenty percent chance that you'll live if you disobey my orders. And those odds stink, so don't test them."

"I understand," Brick solemnly replied.

"I'm talking about strict bed rest, complete adherence to the medication schedule. Your life depends on it," the doctor emphasized, uncertain that Brick actually understood the terms of his treatment.

"Yes. I have heard this before doctor," Brick testily shot back, irritated at the doctor's insistence, acting like he was some kid.

"And you're going to die if you don't' listen this time," Ray shot back, desperate to get through to his patient.

"I know," Brick lowly acknowledged, his eyes boldly meeting his doctor's.

It reassured Ray that the younger man understood the seriousness of his illness but he couldn't drown out the doubt he harbored that Brick wouldn't disobey his orders like he had Dr. Peters. "Great, then you'll do as I ordered." If he was waiting for a sworn promise from Brick, he realized the was never going to get it. Brick returned his eye contact unblinkingly but committed to nothing. "Ok," Ray disgustedly gave up. "We're going to release you this afternoon and I'll fill your prescription, have the medication for you when you leave," because, at this point, Ray didn't think he could even trust the guy to fill the prescription on his own. "With the medication and the bed rest, your attacks will decrease but it's not an instant cure. I'll send some pain killers home with you but if the pain gets too severe, come back in immediately. I'll schedule an appointment for two weeks to check up on your recovery." He held out his hand, but when Brick shook his hand, he tightened his grip, trapped the man's hand with his and seared a concerned look into the unwell man's eyes. "Take my advice, Brick."

Then before he could decide if his words had an effect on Brick, Ray headed for the door. But he stopped in his tracks when Brick spoke.

"Doctor, I want this to stay confidential."

Ray slowly turned to face Brick, a bitter dawning of understanding creasing his features. "Meaning that you don't want me to tell your family anything about your condition…or your treatment."

"Yeah, all they do is worry," Brick attempted to say with some levity, tried to make it sound like he was doing it for their own good.

But Ray wasn't fooled, felt the pit in his stomach clench. "If you want doctor-patient confidentiality, that's how it will be. But I think they should know so they can help you."

A light of stubborn irritation sparked in Brick's gaze. "My health is my business, doctor."

Determined to not get into a shouting contest with his patient, Ray bit his lip a moment then nodded his head. "Well, like I said, I won't discuss your health with anyone. But you should know that, when I got your medical records, I shared my theory of what was causing your condition with your father." Sensing that Brick wasn't putting the pieces together, Ray pointed out, "In doing so, I revealed that you had been in a racing accident." Almost enjoyed the dread that seeped into his patient's features, had him closing his eyes in frustration. "I'm sorry," he briskly said, though he had never been less sorry for failing to follow procedures than he was right then. "I assumed that, in the case of such a serious accident, you would have had your family contacted," his censure making his words come out bitingly, earned him Brick's angry glare.

Having said his piece, the doctor made his exit, knew they were parting on mutual ground: they both knew that Brick had no intentions of telling his family his true condition any more than Brick intended to heed his dire warning and follow his orders. And for the life of him, Ray couldn't understand why. Brick had to know how important he was to his family, that, if he died, his father would be so much more than devastated.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and I'm loving each and every review!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	4. Chapter 4

Scars

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Brick McKenna or any rights to the television show "McKenna", nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 4

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Jack pounced on Dr. Ray as he came out of Brick's room. "Doctor, what's Brick's condition?"

Ray almost flinched at the other man's urgency. "Mr. McKenna, I suggest you ask your son," he directed, could not say more, thanks to Brick's request. But when he meant to step by the older man, Jack grabbed his arm and seared him with an angry glare.

"Whoa, you're the doctor. You're supposed to tell me," Jack acerbically stated, tried to push down the tingling in his gut that said this was Brick's doing, that Brick had asked the doctor to keep him in the dark.

"Well, I've told your son and given him strict orders." But Ray knew by the look in Jack's eyes that he wasn't going to drop it that easily. The worst part was, Ray truly wanted to tell Brick's dad his condition, had some faith that Jack could _force_ Brick to follow his orders. Dropping his voice but holding Jack's eyes, Ray imparted, "Look, I'm bound by law to discuss things only with my patient. I am sorry." And it didn't feel like much of a win, when he walked away from Jack.

Standing transfixed on the doctor's departing form, Jack was more certain than ever that Brick had ordered the doctor to not tell him his condition. And that raised two painful questions: Did that mean the news was that bad? Or did Brick simply feel it was none of his business?

Leigh and Cassidy approached from the waiting room, cans of soda in their hands. "So what did the doctor say about Brick's test results?" Leigh worriedly pressed, didn't like the clench in Jack's jaw. It never spoke of good tidings.

Looking to the two women, Jack snapped with frustration, "Nothing. Told me to ask my son."

"But…" Leigh began.

Cutting off Leigh's comeback, Jack gruffly proclaimed, "Let's go ask." Then he was determinedly striding into Brick's room.

Cassidy started to follow her father's lead but Leigh put a hand out to stop her progress, subtly shook her head at her young sister-in-law's confusion. This was a conversation between Jack and his son.

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Looking up as Jack entered his room, Brick, sensing his father's anger, braced himself for the coming confrontation. Silently decided it was a good thing his roomie wasn't around…good for his roomie, that was.

"So how ya feeling?" Jack began but Brick wasn't fool by the innocuous question, knew Jack was merely building up for the explosion to follow.

"I'm doing good," Brick answered vaguely, wasn't sure what Jack would object to. Watched his father's features intently, trying to gauge when the yelling would start.

"Good," Jack repeated as he came to stand by Brick's bed, stared down into his son's upturned, still somewhat pale face.

Brick didn't cower under his father's inspection, had learned that to show weakness was a sure fire way to ensure Jack ran right over him. That what he wanted would suddenly not count anymore. He didn't worry that he would have to wait long for Jack to get down to brass tacks, his father was well known for his directness.

"You told the doctor not to tell me anything, didn't you?" Jack demanded in the next breath. The two McKenna's men engaged in a stare-down for a moment before Brick shrugged.

"What's to tell. I take some medication for the headaches and I get better," Brick casually lied right to his father's face.

But Jack's face turned red with anger and he spat, "That's more to this than that! I want the truth, Brick, not some convenient lie." Then he stilled, gave his son an accusing look. "Or maybe you think this is none of my business…like your racing accident was none of my business."

And there it was, the comment Brick had been bracing for ever since the doctor had admitted he had told Jack about his accident. Not shying away from the landmine that had been lobbed into the room, Brick faced his father's accusation with a bluntness that rivaled Jack's. "Yeah, I guess you're right, Jack. It's none of your business."

When Jack's eyes flared with fury, Brick knew his father wanted to lash out, wasn't all too sure that wouldn't include a fist for the first time instead of just words. What he didn't expect was for Jack to instead abruptly ask, "Are you being released today?"

"This afternoon," Brick replied as if he was rising to a challenge Jack had made. And Brick wondered if this was the last straw, if he and Jack were finally going to call it quits. Didn't put it past Jack to clear out all his stuff in the house and have his bags packed and sitting outside the McKenna Outfitters gate even before the doc got back with his release papers.

"I have to get supplies in town but I'll be back by 4 to take you home," Jack ordered rather than offered. But then he gave Brick an assessing look, couldn't leave his son's side until he knew for sure that Brick's condition hadn't worsened due to their confrontation. Finding Brick wasn't any paler than before their argument and he didn't seem to be in pain, Jack turned and left the room without uttering another word to his sick son.

At his father's departure, Brick shakily exhaled, let his head sink back into the pillows and closed his eyes.

McKMcKMcKMcK

Brick was signing one of the last hospital forms when Jack reappeared. Father and son warily eyed one another, neither trusting the other's next move.

Jack noted that a Band-Aid had replaced the IV on Brick's hand and the jeans and t-shirt that Leigh had brought to the hospital were sitting on the bed beside Brick.

When the nurse left, signed papers in hand, Brick announced without looking to his father, "I'll just be a minute yet."

Jack nodded, though Brick hadn't spared him a glance, had to fight the instinct to fly to Brick's side when his son hopped off the bed. To his relief, Brick didn't waver, walked to the bathroom on steady feet, carrying his clothing, like this was any other day of his life. But it wasn't. That stark fact kept slapping Jack in the face. And God knew, he hadn't meant to yell at Brick before, had been worried and frustrated and, like usual, it came out as anger.

Then Brick exited the bathroom in his normal clothing, looked ready to face the world again. Jack couldn't quite understand why that caused him such concern. Then the nurse returned with a wheelchair and smiled, "Hospital rules, Brick."

The nurse was pretty and kind and Brick gave her his winning smile. Complying, he said, "I'd hate to break the rules," but the devious spark in his eyes said that that was what he loved doing best.

"Un huh," Jack snorted sarcastically as he rolled his eyes. The nurse laughed at the father-son antics. "I think I can wheel him out of here for you," Jack proposed as he slipped behind the wheel chair and pushed Brick sedately by the nurse and out the door of the room.

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They began the drive home in silence. Jack kept stealing worried glances over to Brick every few minutes, as if checking to make sure Brick hadn't passed out.

Looking out the front windshield, Brick drawled, "I wish you'd keep your eyes on the road, not on me. I'll tell you if I'm going to do something interesting." Then he turned his gaze to Jack.

Jack immediately pulled his eyes away from his son and focused on the road, couldn't suppress a jerk in his clenched jaw. "Why don't you tell me what the doctor said. Then maybe I'd stop looking at you every two seconds, expecting the worst."

"They released me from the hospital. Doesn't that tell you something?" Brick deflected.

But the steely look Jack shot his way told him his father wasn't fooled even before his words did. "Yeah, they needed the bed for someone else."

Choking silence engulfed the jeep.

Brick surprised himself and Jack by confessing, "I had a head injury and I guess it didn't heal completely. The doctor gave me medication and said to take it easy for a day or two. Satisfied, Jack?"

Looking to Brick, Jack bluntly replied, "No…" but then he tacked on, "but appeased."

Brick seemed to ease back more firmly in the seat at Jack's words. Any loss of tension was appreciated.

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Everyone emerged out of the house as the jeep pulled to a stop and Brick's niece and nephew came running to the passenger door, a chorus of "Uncle Brick!' on their lips.

Climbing out of the jeep, Brick bent down and the children tackled him. He automatically caught them in a bear hug and lifted them off the ground like he always did when they greeted him with such enthusiasm.

Instantly Jack was there pulling the children out of Brick's hold, his eyes lancing Brick with a stern reprimand.

"I didn't have surgery, Jack," Brick defensively grumbled.

Jack didn't bother making a verbal reply to Brick's statement, hoped the no-nonsense scolding in his eyes said it all. Then he gently set his two grandchildren back on their own two feet and bent down to be eye level with them. "Uncle Brick was in the hospital because he was sick and it's going to take him a few days until he feels well enough to do the things he likes to do."

"Like pick us up," Rose said seriously, her eyes big.

"Right," Jack gently agreed.

Not to be outdone by his sister, Henry supplied, "And ride his horse."

Ruffling the boy's hair, Jack encouraged, "I knew you would understand," shot a chiding look up to Brick that said even children could tell he wasn't alright.

Brick stonily endured Jack's dig but when Rose and Henry looked up at him, he nearly swore. The two kids were now eyeing him like he was a broken toy barely held together by Elmer's glue. And knowing the two like he did, Jack's words would spur them on to be his watchdogs, would tattle if he did something Grandpa Jack wouldn't approve of. Jack had set him up. Royally. The glare he sent to Jack only made his father smile as he came to his feet.

Then Cassidy stepped forward and took Brick's hand. "Come on, supper's ready." And he never was good at denying his little sister anything, was allowing her to lead him inside.

Leigh slipped to Brick's other said, announced, "I made your favorite: BBQ ribs."

"Well, when you put it that way," Brick conceded, causing everyone to laugh as they entered the house. Everyone but Jack

Jack hadn't laughed, still stood on the driveway, watched the entourage with a dark, worried expression. Now that he had a little time to process things, he wasn't even appeased by Brick's earlier account of the doctor's findings. No, Jack had read a seriousness in the doctor's expression when he had inquired about Brick's health. A seriousness that Brick didn't want to share with Jack. Maybe even a seriousness that Brick didn't want to admit, even to himself.

And that last thing, it scared Jack the most.

McKMcKMcK

The kids had been dismissed from the table, leaving Brick, Jack, Cassidy and Leigh to eat their dessert in relative silence. When the doorbell rang, Brick offered, "I'll get it" but Cass leaped from her chair. "No, I got it," and headed to the front door.

Catching the oh-so-familiar look of reprimand from Jack, Brick had the good sense to sheepishly cringe. Wiping his mouth with the napkin, he made a reach to Jack's plate, ready to help Leigh clear the table. However, before he could stand up, put his intentions into actions, Leigh snatched Jack's plate as well as his own. "Just relax, Brick," she gently suggested, shooting him a warm little smile.

Jack's hardened gaze told Brick that he hadn't done the right thing yet.

"I'm sorry," Brick found himself apologizing, felt he owed Jack something for all the trouble he was lately. "I'm a little restless and sitting still isn't in my nature."

"Yeah, that's what worries me," Jack replied, his eyes holding his son's, wishing he knew just how worried he should be.

Suddenly, their visitor stood at the head of the table. Dale, still wearing his police uniform, took in the sight of Brick like he was seeing a miracle. "Sorry to interrupt your dinner but I just heard about your 911 call yesterday. They said they admitted you to the hospital?" his worry bleeding through the words even as a sting of hurt indignation that he wasn't notified that his best friend needed emergency medical attention edged into his tone. And though Brick sat right there in front of him, it didn't relieve all of his worry like he thought it would.

"Well, I'm still kicking," Brick boasted with that devilish smile of his.

Claiming the chair beside Brick, Dale anxiously questioned, "What happened?"

Sensing the tension coming off of not only Brick but the other occupants of the room, Dale scanned the faces gathered around the kitchen table. Being a trained observer he detected that Leigh and Cass were holding their breath as they watched Brick, as if they were waiting too for his answer. And Jack? Jack's face was pinched, but not in anger for a change, but with raw dread.

Knowing that he had his audience's rapt attention, Brick focused on Dale, hoped to play down his words with a light smirk, "An old racing injury came back to haunt me. Risk of the trade."

Cas and Leigh were openly surprised but Jack's expression simmered with frustration. And Dale didn't think it was the normal give and take father and son usually exchanged on a daily basis. Eyes flickering back to Brick, he asked, "You're Ok, though?" because he needed a little more reassurance other than his friend's usual bravado.

Brick, his eyes sliding to Jack, proclaimed, "All I need to do is take some pills, relax for a day or two," before he swiveled his looked back to Dale, his eyes dancing with mirth. "Get out of helping you rebuilt old man Parker's fence."

Recognizing his friend's deflection but willing to play along, Dale chuckled, pointed accusingly at Brick. "I knew you'd find some way to get out of helping me. Just like you did when we were ten and you lost that bet to Marvin and we were supposed to shovel out that septic pit."

Brick raised his hands in surrender, "You think I wanted to get grounded?"

"Yes!" Dale shot back, knew his friend well enough to not doubt he had assessed what was the worst case scenario for a sweltering hot summer Saturday. But then he sobered and his eyes seared into Brick's. "Take care of yourself Brick. I don't' have any other candidates to be my best friend."

"I'm sure Randy would volunteer," Brick cheekily offered.

Pointing a menacingly finger at Brick, Dale threatened with a smile, "Oh, I'll give you a week or so to heal up, then you're mine."

The tension seemed to abate and Leigh offered Dale some desert. Like always, he readily accepted.

"I think I'll get some fresh air," Brick announced, patting Dale on the back and rising from his chair. Again he was the center of attention. Smirking, he shook his head in slight surrender and left.

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The doctor's words rang through Brick's head as he sat on the porch swing. It was a quiet, cool evening with a quarter moon hanging in the sky. A month ago, he could have found solace sitting where he was. Before the pain had started coming back, before his past had decided to not stay in the past.

He was at a crossroads and he knew it. He could come clean to Jack and follow the doctor's orders. But he felt motivated by the same reason why he hadn't wanted Jack notified when he initially got hurt: he didn't want to _need_ Jack. Not Jack's love, acceptance or concern. Wanted to prove to _himself_ that he could survive without any of it. And a small part of him had wanted to spare Jack pain and worry. Especially after his father had just lost Guy.

And as far as following the doctor's orders, Brick hadn't lied to Jack about everything. It wasn't in his nature to sit still and let life pass him by. His life was about not backing down, having the nerve to try anything he wanted to. It certainly wasn't about lying around on his carcass, in the hopes that he didn't die.

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Jack stood on the porch watching Brick as he stared out into the darkness. He knew it was going to be struggle to keep his son from pushing himself too far. Brick wasn't happy unless he was in motion. "Nice evening," he greeted as he approached the swing.

"Yup," Brick replied, eyes on the moon overhead instead of his father.

Taking a seat by Brick, Jack questioned, "Tired?" as he studied his son.

"Yeah," Brick readily agreed and then he turned to Jack with a smile. "Of being flat on my back.

Jack didn't give that statement a verbal response but his reprimanding glare made Brick laugh.

"Don't work so hard at your role, Jack," he teased.

Turned to fully face his son, Jack shot back, "And what role is that?"

But Brick just shook his head, didn't want to get into the same old arguments. "What about the Charten party? I was going to lead their expedition."

"I cancelled it," Jack bluntly announced, couldn't believe Brick was worried about a tour, that he thought it was still on.

Brick looked to Jack in shock. "You cancelled it? You could have filled in for me the first two days then I could have taken over."

"Brick, I found you passed out on the kitchen floor and you were admitted into the hospital! I had more important things to worry about than my business," Jack snapped, Brick's attitude telling him that his son wasn't taking his health scare seriously.

Holding his hands up, either in surrender or as a shield, Brick said, "Ok. Point taken." And he was about to get out of the swing but Jack grabbed his arm,

"I'm sorry," Jack wearily apologized, causing Brick's eyes to fly to his. "None of this is something you asked for and you're the last person I should be yelling it."

Nodding his head in acceptance of his father's apology, Brick again leaned back into the swing. "I'm not great company at the moment either."

Feeling like they were on better footing with each other, Jack turned an entreating smile onto his son. "What do you say? How about humoring your old man for the next couple of days by following doctor's orders?"

Brick gave Jack an assessing look before brashly asking, "And what do I get out of the deal?"

"How 'bout better health," Jack sternly volleyed back before his eyes and tone softened. "And making me happy."

Laughter sputtered out of Brick. "Oh, Jack, it isn't you," he merrily denounced his father's out of character attempt at warmth.

A bit chagrined, Jack acknowledged Brick's assessment with a smirk and a nod of his head. But he followed it up with a gruff threat of "How about 'you're going to follow your doctor's orders or I'm going to kick your butt'?"

Brick's eyes sparkled with humor. "Now that's the Jack I know."

"Now that we've established how things are going to go, you're hitting the sack. Now," Jack laid down the law.

"Jack, I'm not a child!" Brick snapped.

"Then stop arguing like one."

"I'm…" Brick heatedly began as he surged out of the swing. But Jack matched his motion and was immediately grabbing his arm, stilling him.

"Maybe you can deny you're sick but I can't," Jack tersely proclaimed. "I'm the one who found you sprawled out on the kitchen floor, barely breathing. I was in the ambulance as they gave you an IV and a breathing mask hoping to keep you _alive_." Knew his words were hitting home when Brick paled. "So you want to sugarcoat things for everyone, that's your business. Just don't lie to me, son. Not again. Now either you go to bed on your own or I'm going to drag you upstairs and tie you to your bed," Jack laid down his ultimatum and then he and Brick stood there, their death match stare-down engaged.

'_Crap, Jack's serious about his threat_,' Brick realized with astonishment, had been on the receiving end of this type of threat from Jack on more than one occasion. And Jack always kept his word. "I guess I'm going to bed," he conceded, without a shred of his earlier mirth. Pulling out of Jack's now loose grip, he retreated into the house, left the screen door slam in his wake.

Drawing in a sigh of relief, Jack resumed his seat on the swing. It was going to be harder than he thought, keeping Brick down. Brick was fighting his weakness like he did every other obstacle life ever threw at him, with tooth and nail.

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TBC

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Thanks goes out to my wonderful reviewers from last chapter! And I appreciate everyone who takes time to drop into this story for a visit.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	5. Chapter 5

Scars

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Brick McKenna or any rights to the television show "McKenna", nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: This chapter's shorter than the previous ones but I wanted to reassure my awesome readers that this story is still moving forward. Please don't give up on me or this story!

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Chapter 5

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"Alright, who unplugged my alarm clock?" Brick grumbled as he made his way down the stairs at 11:30am.

"You had no reason to set it," Leigh called from the kitchen. Rose and Harry stopped their card game on the couch to watch Brick's reaction. They giggled at his over the top grimace that he did for their benefit. "You think your mom's funny, huh?"

Harry's response was a straight forward, "Yes," as if '_doesn't everyone think that?_'

Brick ruffled Harry and Rose's hair as he headed for the kitchen, where Leigh greeted him with a sickening sweet smile. "Your wish is my command, Lord Brick."

"Oh please," he groaned. Leigh laughed and, before Brick knew it, she was hugging him.

"Take care of yourself, Brick," she pleaded as she held onto him, felt relieved when Brick relaxed and returned the hug. "You scared us all worse than you usually do with one of your antics. That's got to tell you something."

"Kinda scared myself too," Brick candidly admitted.

His statement caused Leigh to pull back so she could read his expression, was surprised to realize he was serious. "You're going to be back to normal in a couple days because you're going to follow your doctor's orders," she reassured as she steered him to a chair and pushed him into it. "Your pills first," she announced as she sat a glass of water and his pill bottle on the table in front of him. "Then I'll make you anything you want to eat."

"Gee mom, could you smash the pills so they go down better," Brick retaliated to her hand holding.

But Leigh didn't miss a beat, offered with a smug smile, "I could use the horse's pill gun."

"Oh, you'd love that," Brick shot back but his smile had crept into his tone. He and Leigh exchanged challenging looks for a beat before they both chuckled.

Watching Brick dutifully swallow a pill, Leigh questioned, "So what's your pleasure?"

"Aw…just coffee," Brick replied.

Leigh's hands slid to her hips and she got the look she did when her children smart mouthed her. "Excuse me? I thought you said 'just coffee' when I know you meant 'Leigh, I want the works: eggs, sausage, hash browns and toast.'"

Knowing a losing battle when he saw one, Brick conceded with "Yeah, yeah, I'll take an egg and toast," before he picked up the newspaper. As his sister in law merrily headed to the kitchen, Brick couldn't help but feel grateful that his family didn't know his doctor's **true **orders.

The fact was, he felt drained and a dull ache had begun in his head. The doctor had warned him that, though he could be cured, it wasn't going to be overnight. Of course, that was if he stayed in bed for two months. And here it was, day one and he was already disregarding the doctor's advice. '_But I make my own decisions about my life,_' Brick defiantly thought, quelled the cynical voice that tacked on, '_and about how you'll die, right?_'

Jack's entrance into the kitchen sidelined Brick's internal battle, had the younger man abandoning his sagging pose.

Sweat beading on his brow and his face streaked with dirt, Jack greeted his son with a self-satisfied, "_Afternoon_, Brick," proud of himself for his part in his son's late rising.

"Morning Jack," Brick returned, ignoring his father's glee. He should have known Leigh wasn't sneaky enough to venture into his room and turn off his alarm. "What are you working so hard at?"

"Putting up that new row of fencing on the east side," Jack said, nearly draining his glass of water in one gulp.

Brick straightened further in his chair. "You mean the fence I was going to put up?" he challenged, an accusing edge to his tone.

"Yup," Jack bluntly replied.

Fire snapped from Brick's eyes as they lanced into his father's. "You couldn't wait two days?!"

"Nope," Jack answered brusquely, didn't bother letting on that his decision to do the fencing himself had little to do with impatience and everything to do with stopping Brick from doing it. Two days hardly seemed enough time to recover from an attack that had caused Brick to pass out. What was the doctor thinking when he had set only a two day restriction to Brick's physical activities?!

Pinning Brick with a calculating look, Jack couldn't help but wonder if his son had purposefully lied to him about his condition and the doctor's orders.

Sensing Jack's judging gaze, Brick shot back, "What?"

"Nothing," Jack growled. Then he left the house without another word to his son.

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Boring. It was the only word Brick could describe his day. With a capital B.O.R.I.N.G! TV and reading had never been his passion when he was young and they still weren't. He was all about the outdoors, about action. He had gotten so bored that he had voluntarily taken a nap on the couch for a while.

Even supper was uneventful.

Afterward, he stole out to the swing on the porch, was soon joined by Cassidy who claimed a seat beside him, gave him an adoring little sister smile before leaning against his shoulder. Putting his arm around her, he gave her a gentle squeeze.

But she fidgeted, stilled, turned to look at him then returned her focus to the mountain scenery. But the next second she shifted again.

Exhaling a breath of air in defeat, Brick affectionately said, "Ok, Cass. What's your question?"

Immediately she sat up and faced him. "Were you really in a racing accident?" her eyes large and concerned.

"Yes. Next question."

Cass took a steadying breath. "Why weren't we told? I mean, it was serious, right?"

Brick eyed his sister in silence for a couple of minutes. "I guess it was serious," he softly admitted.

Noticing Brick's reluctance to talk about his accident, Cassidy debated whether or not to keep pursuing the answers that were keeping her up at night. "I thought hospitals contacted people's families," she quietly said.

Giving Cassidy a sad smile, Brick got up, leaned against a porch post, eyed up the nature that surrounded him. This was his favorite place in all the world…and yet he had left behind. Didn't think Cassidy fully understood his decision to leave Bend. And he knew that she would never understand his decision to not notified Jack or any of them when he had gotten hurt. Yes, Cassidy was Jack's daughter but she didn't have the same relationship Brick did with Jack. Didn't incur their father's disapproving looks at every turn, never had to beg or fight to earn even a fleeting second of their father's attention. She was so like Guy in that respect, so much so that it hurt him to be around her right then.

"I'm going for a stroll. Night Cass," he bade without facing her. Then he stepped off the porch and headed for the meadow.

Torn between chasing after Brick, apologizing for whatever she had said that had hurt him and wanting to go inside and have a good cry, Cassidy leapt off the swing, spun around and came face to face with Jack. But her father's frustrated, worried gaze didn't land on her, was fixed on Brick's receding figure as it disappeared into the growing darkness. "Night Jack," she offered before she slipped by him into the house.

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"Why don't you just relax the rest of the week?" Jack had suggested.

And if there was ever a time that Brick seriously wondered if Jack wasn't really Jack, that was the moment. But he gave the imposter Jack the same answer he would give the real one, a sharp "No."

From that point on, Brick plunged back into life as if nothing could slow him down.

But Brick's family watched him and Dale watched him, as if they feared any second he would do a repeat performance of a few days ago and pass out on them. And Jack, he watched with dogged determination, vowed to spot any signs of pain that flickered ever so briefly across Brick's features. And when his son wasn't in his line of sight and he couldn't reassure himself of Brick's safety with his own eyes, he worried. Laid awake at night with worry gnawing at him, couldn't shake the belief that his son needed him, more than Brick was saying, would ever say. And if he wasn't there for him, if he let Brick down like he had Guy…he couldn't live with that type of failure again. He would break this time. And he wondered if Brick knew that, if Brick would even believe him if he told him he couldn't bear to lose him.

For Brick's part, he didn't miss his family's vigil. Between Leigh, Cassidy, Jack, the kids and Dale, it seemed he was never left alone…not unless he sneaked away. Today, he had managed to do just that.

He stood mid-thigh in the river's flow, a hat shading his face from the sun and a fishing rod in his hand. It had been two weeks since his hospital stay and it seemed like an eternity ago. Out of all the people who watched him, Jack was the most fervent and the most observant.

Brick was exhausted with keeping up the pretenses.

In truth, he had a raging headache that wouldn't go away. The medication only helped for a few hours of each day, leaving him with many hours of unrelenting pain. Riding horse hurt so badly that he had practically fallen from the saddle. And each day the pain was getting worse.

Casting his fishing line, he shut his eyes. He could always feel a bad attack coming on and had learned the hard way that all he could do was take a seat, draw in deep breathes and clench his jaw until the pain eased. And right now, a bad one was coming on fact.

Recognizing that he couldn't walk back to the bank in time, he braced his feet on the bottom of the river among the swift current and drew in a shaking breath. When the pain struck, he clenched his jaw, tried to lock his legs but found himself staggering back a few paces. Apparently there was no substitute for sitting down.

Even as he felt his knees slip from their locked position, he swore someone called out his name. He was collapsing, slipping under the water when someone grabbed onto him, began hauling him back to the bank. His foggy brain finally made out the voice: Dale's.

Laying his best friend down onto the bank, Dale knelt beside Brick, watched his friend take in deep breathes even as he kept his eyes closed. But Dale's alarm wasn't abating, not when he saw how ashen Brick's coloring was. "Brick, are you alright? Should I get help?" he worriedly asked, hand coming to rest on his friend's chest while his other coiled around his friend's forearm.

Through his haze of pain, Brick barked, "No!" yet his eyes remained tightly squeezed shut.

Watching Brick's features contort with pain, Dale felt helpless and afraid but he didn't go against his friend's wishes or abandon his hold on Brick. No, he would stay there until Brick came back to himself, no longer had need of him. After a few indeterminately long minutes, he noticed Brick's grimace lessening. And when his friend finally forced his flickering eyes to bear the sunlight, he noted that Brick's eyes were dull, lacked the sparkle that was all Brick McKenna.

"I can get you to a doctor, Brick," Dale gently offered, was already envisioning slinging Brick over his shoulders, plotting the trail he would take.

Brick slowly began to sit up, was aided by Dale's strong hands. "I'm Ok, Dale," Brick reassured, saw his friend wince at his weak voice.

"Brick…" Dale warned, would not let his friend tell him a tall tale.

Sensing Dale's next words, Brick snapped, "I didn't get an instant cure, remember!"

Studying Brick with suspicion and concern, Dale carefully replied, "I realize that, but it's been two weeks and that attack looked pretty bad."

"They're getting better," Brick defensively countered, yanked his arm out of Dale's hold. He gave Dale a glare when his friend tried to reach for him again as he climbed to his feet. Then he was heading toward the trail that would lead him back to his car.

Watching Brick's departure, realizing that his friend was struggling to maintain his normal gait, Dale challenged, "You know what, I think you're lying!"

That was enough to stop Brick, caused him to spin to face his friend, who was quickly eating up the distance between them. "What?!" Brick spat, taking indignation to a new level.

Coming to a stop when he was toe to toe with Brick, Dale growled, "Why don't you stop all this…this crap!? You've lied to Jack, to your family, to _me_ long enough! You're not getting better, are you?"

"One little attack and now I'm a liar?!" Brick exploded. "If it'll make you feel better, I'll rush home and describe the whole attack to Jack. Would that be proof enough that I'm not hiding anything?!"

Dale stood there, had watched his friend's emotions play across his face and knew that Brick was still lying to him. "No, not it's not," he sadly refuted.

"Well, thanks for your help, Dale," Brick gruffly bit out with anger instead of gratitude. Then he swiftly cut through the path.

Dale heard Brick's car engine growl to life before the tires spun out in the dirt trail, probably sending pebbles and dust into the air. Then his friend was gone. "Ah, shoot. Great job, Goodwell. You really got him to open up to you," he chastised himself as he kicked the fishing rod that Brick had left behind in his haste to get away from him.

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Tbc

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Thanks for reading and for everyone who has been encouraging me to continue to post this story!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	6. Chapter 6

Scars

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Brick McKenna or any rights to the television show "McKenna", nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: Sorry it's been so long since I updated this story! Here's hoping that there's someone out there who still has an interest in this tale.

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Chapter 6

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To Brick's surprise, Jack didn't pounce all over him when he returned, wet, to the house. Apparently Dale still valued their friendship enough to not tell Jack about his near drowning in the river, had kept that little secret between them like they had so many of their childhood misadventures that ended up with broken windows, equipment and even Jack's truck that one time.

But the down side of Jack not hearing about that particular misadventure was he didn't pull any punches when it came to dealing with son.

"I think the mountain climb is a better choice for the Jamesons," Brick voted as he sat across from Jack in the family room.

"And I think you're wrong," Jack gruffly shot back.

"Right. Right," Brick sarcastically drawled. "It's my idea so it's definitely wrong. Don't you get tired of being a dictator, Jack!"

Jack's eyes glistened with anger as he harshly retorted, "Right, I'm such a dictator. Guess that's why I let you leave two years ago to pursue your dreams."

"Let me leave?!" Brick acidly repeated, coming to his feet. "You didn't let me leave, I just left. I knew you would never offer me support for my decisions."

His eyes tracking to his son's, Jack challenged, "Oh so you thought it was better not to consult me at all."

"Yes," Brick defiantly answered without an ounce of repentance.

"Guess you felt the same way about notifying me of your accident?" Jack charged, part of him hoping Brick would deny it, that there had been a mix up, that his son had wanted him there.

Brick didn't let him hold onto that falsehood. "I guess I did," his son told him and he knew it was the truth and it hurt. Surging from the couch, Jack came toe to toe with his son. "You didn't trust me to be supportive?!" half outrage and half hurt.

Intimidated by the emotions roiling off of his father, Brick took a step back but Jack instantly advanced on him, thundered, "How dare you not tell me! I'm your father, Brick! I was entitled to know!"

And somehow, Jack being angry, pretending to be all fatherly concern …protective, it broke down the wall Brick built around himself, and he felt his jaw clenching and his hands forming fists. "My _father_?" Brick bitterly scoffed, eyes glinting with indignation. "You were _Guy's_ father, Cas's when it suited you but _my father_?! You never had time to be that for me, _Jack_," sneered, put as much emphasis, disrespect on his father's first name as he could. Could see the fury in Jack's eyes, the warning but he blew right past it like a checkered flag as he leaned closer, his breathing hitting Jack's face as he declared, "You weren't entitled to know a thing about me."

Jack didn't plan it, never thought himself capable of it, but did it all the same: backhanded his own son. Had to do something, anything to stop Brick's words, to shut them out, to make them untrue.

For Brick's part, though his eyes were wide with surprise and there was blood pooling on his split lip and his cheek burned from the impact of his father's hand, he didn't shrink away, merely steadied himself and glared at Jack, poised for whatever came next.

Fighting down his self-loathing, the ache to reach out, caress his son's cheek that he had seconds ago struck, Jack stood stock still, afraid that any movement he made, Brick would see as another blow coming. Hoarsely, he declared, "I don't care if you doubted my reaction. I had ever right to be there for you. It wasn't your decision to make!?"

Without a word, Brick turned away from him, headed up the stairs. He blushed in shame as he caught sight of Leigh standing on the top landing. Without a word, he brushed by her.

Having witnessed most of the confrontation, Leigh found she was trembling, was too afraid to stop Brick as he passed her, to touch him kindly after his own father's abuse. And Brick didn't welcome her pity, or her presence, she could read the shame in his eyes as he purposely didn't touch her as he made his way onto the 2nd floor.

Holding the railing, Leigh came down the stairs on legs not all that steady. And she didn't know why she had the strength to face Jack and not Brick. Somehow she thought she knew Jack better, certainly knew the emotions Jack was succumbing to. Maybe it was because they were both parents, knew how irrational a parent sometimes acted when their child was hurt, had been hurt, and they were helpless to make any of the pain go away.

But before she even reached Jack, Brick was sailing down the stairs, blew by her and stormed to his father. "Here," he growled, shoving a VCR tape into Jack's gut. "Since you feel so robbed that you couldn't be there. It's great. Almost as if you were witnessing it live." And then, before Jack even had a grip on the tape, Brick stepped back and was out the door.

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"That was so stupid!" Brick muttered to himself as he stalked down the stairs. Giving Jack details…giving him a video of the accident, it was the last thing he should have done! The only thing bound to come out of it was Jack not just _thinking_ he was weak but being sure of it, for his father to think that he was throwing himself a pity party.

Getting into his Mustang, he brought the engine to life and slammed the car into reverse. Flooring it down the lane, he remembered making the same angry exit before…the day he had thought he was leaving home…leaving Jack for good.

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Decisively putting the VCR tape on the table, Jack went to the door, watched Brick angrily stalk to his car, slam the door and then gun the car away from the house…away from him. "Great," he grumbled, knew that he would be lucky if he didn't have to track Brick down in another state: again. Turning from the door, he came up short as Leigh stood there, watching him.

Walking right by her, he headed for the upstairs, didn't want her two cents on his parenting skills. '_Or lack of skills,_' he sourly thought.

Surprised, Leigh's eyes tracked Jack. "You're not going to watch the tape?"

"Nope," he briskly retorted as he continued up the stairs. Honestly, he didn't know what scared him more, what he would see on the tape or what he wouldn't. Because seeing the wreck would be horrific but not seeing Brick stirring in the car, making his own way into an ambulance…that would be an entirely different nightmare, because he had done it before, had seen one of his kinetic sons go that still….and he couldn't bear seeing Brick in the same near death state. Knew, deep down, that he wouldn't be able to make it, not even for Cassidy's sake, if he lost his youngest boy because there was only so much a man, no matter how strong he thought he was, could endure.

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Sitting at the bar with his second shot in his hand, Brick gulped the liquor down, ordered, "Another" to the bartender even before he settled the glass back onto the bar.

"Brick…" Chuck, the bartender, began his protest, his face screwing up like he was about to launch into some well-meaning bartender speech meant to dissuade him from achieving a drunken stupor.

"Save it," Brick coldly chided. Then, throwing a twenty dollar bill on the table, he ordered, "Don't stop refilling 'till the money's gone." Taking another precaution that his goal wouldn't be deterred, he tucked a five in Chuck's pocket and gave it a sloppy pat. "And there's your tip because I'm hoping to not be conscious when my money's run out."

It was obvious that Chuck wanted to protest but Brick gave him a warning glare. One that apparently Chuck took to heart because the bartender submissively refilled Brick's shot glass before walking to the other end of the bar.

And it was a victory of sorts for Brick. '_At least I stopped one person from giving me advice_,' he sardonically rallied, as he picked up the shot and downed it like he had the previous two. '_What would that doctor have to say about this_?' Brick merely smirked, after all, what was one more ignored piece of advice.

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Entering the bar, Dale stopped in his tracks. Brick was sitting _at the bar_. Brick never…ever sat at the bar. The whole purpose of Brick coming to a bar was to charm the ladies, shoot the breeze with some buddies while nursing a drink or two all evening.

But Dale knew his friend was playing a deadly game lately, wasn't the same boy he had grown up with. And now, considering he wasn't in good health and was taking medication, Brick indulging, let alone overindulging, in alcohol was just careless. Slipping through the throng of bar patrons, past Brick and to the other end of the bar, he leaned over, snagged Chuck's attention. "How many has Brick had?"

"Four. I tried to talk to him but he's in no mood to listen," Chuck confided, glad to pass the burden onto Dale.

Dale swore under his breath when Chuck left him to tend to a new customer. Four shots?! And it looked as if Brick was impatiently waiting for his fifth. Taking a deep breath, he went to confront his friend, prayed it went better than it had earlier that day but didn't hold out much hope.

Not waiting for an invitation to claim the seat to Brick's right, Dale opened with, "Is this a private pity party or can anyone join?"

"Private," Brick snapped back, steely eyes sliding to Dale's.

"And what a grand party it is," Dale muttered, coached himself not to run for the hills when Brick's jaw clenched, knew that tell usually heralded Brick slugging someone.

Chuck picked that moment to stroll by.

"Another shot, Chuck," Brick demanded.

Dutifully, Chuck got the bottle, was in the process of tipping the bottle, when Dale covered the top of Brick's glass with his hand.

"You've had enough," Dale announced but did it softly, almost conversationally.

Without sparing a glance to his friend, Brick faced off with Chuck, drawled, "I believe I have another drink due me out of the twenty."

Unwilling to be caught in the middle of the scuffle between the best friends, Chuck grabbed another glass from under the counter, had every intention of pouring the drink…until his shirtfront was ruthlessly grabbed and he was pulled halfway across the bar to come nose to nose with Dale.

"You give him another drink and you'll be picking up your teeth," Dale threatened, not giving a moment's thought to the fact that he was a police officer, could sway Chuck with laws and penalties for over-serving. For in that moment, he wasn't a cop, was a friend, was performing the duties of a best friend. Whether those duties were going to be appreciated or not.

Holding up his free hand, Chuck conceded, "Ok, Ok," found himself suddenly released. Then, withdrawing the five Brick had deposited into his pocket, he threw the bill back to Brick and quickly fled the scene, ignored Brick's irate, "Hold it! I want another drink."

"Too bad," Dale spat without an ounce of compassion.

Accepting that Dale wasn't going to just go away, no matter how long he ignored him, Brick turned to his friend, challenged, "What's up with you?!"

Anger thrumming through him at even the question, at the complete cluelessness of his friend, Dale lowly shot back, "If you weren't in such pathetic shape, I'd knock you on your butt!"

"Go for it!" Brick goaded, eye blazing, thought it might be an unbeatable record if he pulled it off, had his father and his best friend slug him in the same night.

"I want to wait until you're sober!" Dale hissed back, even as his hand coiled into a fist. "It'll hurt you more."

But just like that, Brick's anger melted away and the clash in his eyes morphed to mockery as he snorted, "Well, then you're gonna have a long wait."

Suddenly, Dale was off his stool and yanking Brick off his own before his friend could even form a reaction. Brick stumbled, would have hit the floor had he been left to his own devices but Dale was right there, firmly supporting him and ushering him out the door.

As the night air hit him in the face, clearing his head a bit, Brick agitatedly ripped his arm out of Dale's grip, did a half trip, half fall down the stairs. He expected to kiss the parking lot, was on that path when a hand roughly snagged onto his bicep and his fall turned into a few stumbling steps forward. Then those steps were guided, right to the passenger side of Dale's truck.

"No, I'm not leaving my car here..." Brick began to object but Dale ripped open his passenger door and manhandled his drunken friend into the car seat. Leaning in the doorway, Dale volleyed back, "Yeah, you are. Maybe you should have thought of that before you drank nearly a bottle of whiskey."

Before Brick could make a retort, the door was slammed in his face. And he held back his words until Dale dropped into the driver's seat but again, his friend spoke before he could, his eyes lancing into him from across the car's interior that was lit by the bar's neon sign. "I saved you from drowning twice today: one time in a river and the next in a bottle."

"Who asked you to?" Brick snarled, slumping back against the car seat.

For a moment, Dale's jaw jumped with anger before he hoarsely made a reply to Brick's rhetorical question, "I did," because, no matter the years they had spent apart, Brick McKenna was still his best friend, was still the guy he thought to call first when he had a good story to tell…or needed someone to get him thinking straight. Was why, when Leigh finally agreed to go on a date with him, he raced home, had already picked up the phone to call Brick ..before he remember two harsh truths: Brick might not champion him dating his widowed sister-in-law, and two, he had no way of reaching his friend. It wasn't just Jack that Brick had left behind, or the town, was everything and everyone that went with it.

'_And I'm not going to let him do it again, bail on me…or his family…or on himself_,' Dale vowed and then he pulled out of the bar parking lot, shot a look to his passenger and knew that, even if he could see Brick's expression right then, he wouldn't know how to interpret it. That whatever had changed in Brick during his time awhile, his friend's habit of burying his emotions down deep, that had stayed the same.

So they rode in silence for a few minutes.

"Don't take me home," Brick softly requested, his eyes on the street lights flickering by the passenger window and his energy slipping away more every second.

Stunned at Brick's tone, Dale snapped his head toward Brick, knew the man hadn't moved a muscle but his demeanor had changed. The bitterness had dissolved, leaving Brick sounding defenseless.

Though he knew it was underhanded, Dale didn't concede, instead bartered, "I might consider it…if you tell me the truth," because he had to strike now, while Brick's guard was down, if he wanted to get anything from his friend.

Brick sighed, shifted a bit but made no move to face his friend.

And sighing, it was another thing Brick did not do, put Dale on full alert. He was about to go all weak and concede to Brick's wishes when his friend spoke.

"The truth?" Brick tiredly puzzled, as if that was a foreign concept to him. "I guess the only truth is that I've made so many mistakes that another one or so won't matter."

"When we're talking about your health, it matters to me!" Dale shot back, eyes trading up the road for his friend, needing Brick to see he wasn't lying, knew how to tell the truth, even if Brick didn't.

And that was good old Dale for him, always willing to get in his face to head him off from doing some stupid stunt that might end badly, very badly. "I thought I was dead when the car began to roll."

Though Brick was within touching distance, to Dale Brick's voice sounded far off, like he was across a room…or a few states away in some race car. '_Almost dying_.'

Brick shook his head, wrestled the memories into pictures, not emotions and sat up straighter in the seat, still chose to not look at Dale, didn't want to see pity or condemnation or …even concern in his friend's expression. "But then I came to in the hospital. You know what my first thought was? _I don't want Jack to know_." Brick laughed quietly, a bit brokenly. "Crazy, right?"

And Dale knew the relationship Jack and Brick shared, that it was rocky and swung from companionable to confrontational from one second to the next, but never did he doubt Jack's love for Brick. Never. Though he had never been successful in making Brick see that. "Why didn't you want Jack to know?" he gently said, voiced the question he knew Brick might not even want him to ask. Maybe didn't even know the answer to.

Brick was silent for so long, Dale was about to apologize for intruding.

Then Brick started to talk, his voice quiet, tinged with self-reproach and sorrow. "Jack has never needed me. I didn't want to need him either." Here Brick paused a second, was glad Dale let those statements go unchallenged. It made him remember again why Dale was the only person he considered a true friend. Though Dale he knew him well, he didn't condemn him for his choices, mock him for his feelings or want to change him to be like someone else…like his big brother. "Dale, I…I wanted Jack there so bad it hurt. But I knew if I called him, if he knew about the accident, I might find out what I always felt. That the only son he ever loved was Guy, maybe could ever love. And I couldn't handle that. It would have broken me in ways the accident hadn't. I couldn't risk my soul on the hopes…" he faltered then, couldn't voice it all aloud, not and bear the weight of it hanging in the air.

"He loves you Brick," Dale insisted firmly, had seen the marks Brick's abrupt departure had left on Jack those years back, marks that didn't go away, simply hardened the man even more.

But Brick snorted at his friend's declaration. "Because I'm the only son left? Because, in a some small way, I remind him of Guy?"

"No!" Dale passionately denied, eyes searing into the dark corner Brick was presently hiding in. His hands fisting around the steering wheel, he fought the urge to pull the car over and shake Brick, make him accept what he was about to tell him. "He loves you for being Brick. He loves you because you're his son. That wouldn't change if Guy were alive or had never been born."

To this, Brick said nothing, let silence be his only reply. But Dale knew it for what it was: failure on his part.

"You aren't getting any better, are you?" Dale realized, felt like a fist was squeezing his heart when Brick made no reply, seemed to lean more heavily back in the seat. "I guess that's my answer," he bitterly deduced, and it felt wrong that his fear was manifesting itself as frustration, that his helplessness was coming out as anger.

When Brick finally spoke, his tone was soft, inquiring, "Do you ever think that life's passing you by? I mean, you're running for all you are worth and still eating dust."

Not sure where this was coming from, Dale answered, "You can't have it all or do it all, Brick. You've got to pick and choose. The right choices are what keep you in the game of life and let you win."

Brick rolled his head to look at Dale's profile. "And if you lose everything trying to get and keep everything?"

Dale turned his head, surprised to see Brick was finally meeting his eyes. "Then what you gotta do is start over. Take it slow, make your choices again and forget about what you didn't do in life and look at what you did do. There's a lot of worthwhile things you've done that you seem to be overlooking." But Brick didn't agree, turned his head to look out the windshield.

Frustrated, Dale pointed out, "But if you keep pushing yourself, Brick, life will pass you by…'cause you'll be dead! That stuff at the river…if I hadn't been there…" he couldn't finish, had to swallow the lump in his throat, because he knew how it would have ended even if Brick didn't want to face it.

"I know…" Brick began, cleared his throat, put more conviction in his tone, "I know it looked pretty bad but…"

"But what?!" Dale incredulously dared. "Oh right, I'm talking about the invincible Brick McKenna. He can handle anything that comes his way and he doesn't need anyone."

"Just stop the car, I'll walk!" Brick shouted, already releasing his seatbelt latch.

"Walk?!" Dale scoffed without altering the car's speed. "You can hardly stand, you're so drunk."

"If I'm lying on the road, upside is, I won't have to hear this lecture again that everyone wants to give me," Brick fired back.

"What's it matter, you don't listen anyway," Dale countered, voice rising to match Brick's.

Accepting that, unless he wanted to exit a fast moving car, he was stuck being Dale's unwilling passenger, Brick sulked in the passenger seat…until Dale turned right, passed under the "McKenna Outfitter's" sign. Then he turned accusing eyes on Dale. "I said I didn't want to go home."

"You're a little old to run away from home," Dale angrily quipped.

"Fine. Drop me off at the 3rd cabin."

Dale shot a look to Brick. "You afraid of Jack?" a hint of real worry in his tone, hadn't missed his friend's cut lip, was now seeing it as more of an ominous sign than he had before.

"No. Just tired of going rounds with him," Brick muttered but Dale blew right by the cabins, came to a stop at the front door of the house.

"Thanks," Brick growled without a shred of gratitude as he reached for the doorhandle, had some small hope that he could scamper off to the cabins anyway. But it died when he looked to the house, noted that the living room light was on, which only meant one thing: Jack was still up.

Having come around his truck, Dale opened the passenger door, held up his hands as Brick glared a warning at him to stay clear.

Though his descent from the truck was more fumble than finesse, Brick didn't count it much a victory when his feet hit the ground, not when his world was spinning. Hated that Dale's, "Come on, I'll help you inside," was offered so gently, hated more that his friend's grip was so needed and hated it most of all that Dale was leading him to the last place on earth he wanted to go.

Dale wasn't surprised to see Jack suddenly there, opening the front door, a worried expression contorting his features. "He's drunk," he quickly qualified, knew that would mute some of his friend's father's worry, but not all of it.

Relieved, Jack leaned a moment in the doorway, needed that support when his legs felt weak. But as he held the door open wide, watched as Dale helped his inebriated son into the house, anger and frustration began to build in his gut. He clenched his jaw tightly so he wouldn't rail at Brick when his son stubbornly pulled out of Dale's grip and he slowly and a bit unsteadily made his way to the stairs and headed up to bed.

Turning to Dale, Jack said, "Thanks Dale."

"Ah, sure," Dale returned, though he hadn't done any of it for Jack's sake, had done it all for Brick's. Then, intending to leave the McKennas to hash out their peace treaty, he opened the door but he couldn't go through it, couldn't leave without doing whatever he could to help his friend..even if Brick hated him for it. Decisively shutting the door, he reached out, touched Jack McKenna for the first time ever, stopped the man from following Brick up the stairs, of making the same mistakes Jack had made all of Brick's childhood. "You need to talk to him."

Jack gave a bitter laugh. "Thought you of all people would know how that always turns out."

Dale drew closer to Jack, dared to meet the man's eyes head on, not as Brick's childhood friend but as Jack's equal. "Well, it needs to go better this time. You have to tell him how you feel."

Yanking his arm from Dale's grip, Jack put his hands on his hips and gave the younger man a sizzling glare. "How I feel isn't any of your concern."

"Is it Brick's?" Dale heatedly challenged, could see Jack's face going more stoic, knew that he wasn't going to have any success the way he was handling things. "Fine, be the same proud man you've always been. But stop being blind! For once in your life, look at him, see him for who he is."

"I do see him!"

"Do you?! So you know he's not getting better?!" Dale demanded, could tell by Jack's bitter expression that the man didn't want to face that.

"He's taking his medication," Jack gruffly pointed out.

"He had an attack at the river today," Dale announced, watched the denial flash in Jack's eyes. "I had to pull him out of the water."

Dale's statement harshly cut through Jack's denials. Cursing, he ran a hand through his hair, stammered, "He hides it pretty good but…I…I knew he wasn't OK. He's been getting weaker instead of stronger, hasn't he?" He didn't wait for Dale's reply before he continued. "And yet he won't even let the doctor talk to me about his condition. If it wasn't for the doctor's slip of the tongue, I wouldn't even know about his accident."

Sighing, Dale commiserated, "Well, he's not telling me anything either. I wanted to get him to a doctor but he refused."

"Why is he lying?" Jack posed, wished he knew the way to get through to his son. "Who's he trying to impress?"

"You," Dale truthfully rejoined, saw Jack's finch at the notion.

"Me?!"Jack scoffed. "Why pretend and lie to me?"

Shifting nervously, Dale struggled for the right words to come, to figure out the lines he couldn't and shouldn't cross. "He wants your respect…and love."

Jack's eyebrow rose in shocked confusion. "He's already got both of those things," he adamantly declared.

"Yeah, but does Brick know that?" Dale quietly charged.

McKMcKMcKMcK

TBC

McKMcKMcKMcK

Thanks for reading and for those wonderful people who have taken the time to review this story. Special thanks to those who prodded me for this chapter!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


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